“I hate gelatin,” Anna said. “I read that it’s made from the toe-jam of horses...”
Jessie laughed. “I don’t think horses have toes,” Jessie said. And to the woman she said, “Maybe we should make that ice cream.”
“And coffee. With cream and sugar,” Anna said.
Jessie frowned. “You don’t take cream and sugar.”
“I do today. How long have you been here?” she asked, not realizing she was repeating herself.
“This is my second day here with you. It takes a while after a blood clot for the brain to untangle but it doesn’t appear you’ve had much, if any, damage. Your speech is quite clear now.”
“It wasn’t before?”
Jessie shook her head. “It was another language entirely, though not a known language. Scrambled. Very typical, Mom.”
When the ice cream and coffee arrived, Jessie asked the nurse to stay with Anna so she could step out of the room and make a couple of calls. And suddenly something came to Anna and she said, “Jessie! Are you calling Michael?”
“Of course,” she said. “He’ll be so thrilled to hear you’re sitting up and talking.”
“Jessie, Michael needs something. He’s in trouble or something! I can’t remember what but I think it’s urgent!”
“We’ll take care of it, Mom. Don’t worry. Michael is fine. Just worried about you.”
“But what’s wrong?”
“We’ll go over all of that a little later. Try out that ice cream.”
A parade of people followed the ice cream—nurses, therapists, doctors—all checking on Anna’s progress, asking her questions and patiently telling her what to expect in the coming days. The important information she got out of the long stream of visitors was that she would be evaluated for possible damage caused by the stroke and registered for physical, speech and occupational therapy as needed for as long as necessary.
She wanted to go home but was repeatedly told it would be another day or two until more information about her condition could be gathered.
Jessie was finally persuaded to leave, though she promised Anna she’d be back after picking up her car and getting a change of clothes.
A man in scrubs came into the room. Anna was gripping her phone in her hand and she thought she recognized the man, but she just shook her head.
“I’m Patrick Monahan. I know Jessie and she called me when you were having a stroke. I’ve been here several times but you’ve been a little confused and sleepy. That’s predictable, by the way.”
“I have a cell phone,” she said, then thought how stupid that sounded.
He smiled, put his hands in his pant pockets and rocked back on his heels. She briefly thought how handsome he was. “Good,” he said.
“How does it work?” she asked.
“Give yourself another few hours, don’t worry about it or think about it, and it will begin to work.”
“Why are you here?”
“Jessie is a friend and I’ve known her awhile now. She called me when you were in crisis and I promised to follow your progress, which has been great, by the way.”
Suddenly she recalled Judge William Andrews, the man who medically retired, leaving a vacancy in the Superior Court that she filled. The memory and the fact that she recalled it when she still wasn’t sure how to operate her phone startled her. And Judge Andrews had had a stroke, was confined to a wheelchair, could not walk and could barely speak. He was older, but how could that be determined to be good news? She was only fifty-seven and did not want to end her career nor her active life just yet.
“Why did I have a stroke?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The neurologists will look into the possibilities. Your blood pressure wasn’t high that anyone knew of. Perhaps a genetic predisposition? We may not find a definitive answer but the real challenge now is to be sure a second stroke is prevented. With the right medication and regular exams, your prognosis is excellent.” He smiled and took her hand. “I think you’re going to be fine, Anna. Is it all right that I call you Anna?”
“Yes, of course. It’s just that I have so much left to do.”
“I think that’s a good thing. We’re here to make sure you have the time to do it.”
Those should have been comforting words and Anna was glad he had stopped by to try to reassure her, but she just could not get Judge Andrews off her mind. She had visited him in a nursing home after his stroke and he was in terrible shape without much hope of getting better, and that was three years ago! The fact that Judge Andrews was a good thirty years older than Anna did not give her much comfort. In fact, in some ways it was harder. The thought of having another stroke and being unable to work or even enjoy life for decades was terrifying.